


Where You Come In

by jopling



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, and you bet your ass she gonna get it, gaby knows what she wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4587408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jopling/pseuds/jopling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t go well. And it’s not just because there’s an explosion and Gaby sees a refrigerator fly out of the building’s third floor window. Illya stopped responding to his radio ten minutes ago. And for the past eight minutes she had been debating whether he was fine, maybe he had just dropped it in a fight, or if she should blow her cover to get him out.</p><p>It’s the flying refrigerator that makes Gaby rush out of the car.</p><p>-- In which Gaby knows what she wants, and she really wishes Illya was more expressive about what he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Come In

It’s nearing midnight in Paris and Illya sits in the quiet living room of the hotel suite they’re staying in for the next few days. Napoleon is out on a solo mission in Venice while he and Gaby are tasked with finding an escaped Nazi doctor-slash-scientist suspected of developing a gas bomb he’ll set off in Champs-Élysées in three days, in the middle of the yearly parade that celebrated the end of the World War. They know where he’s staying but the safer approach was to follow the growing Neo Nazi groups in the city, join their ranks, and have them lead them to doctor.

It’s the usual cover; he and his wife enjoying the sights of Paris for their honeymoon. In the year since their team formed, it’s the seventh time they’ve played these parts and Illya often wonders how come it’s always him that plays the role of Gaby’s husband, never Solo.

Not that he minds.

His lovely wife had stepped out for a drink earlier that night, calling out, “I’m having a drink!” over her shoulder, her coat folded over her arm while she waved her other hand above her head before shutting their door with a loud slam. That had been four hours ago. He had finished his chess game three hours ago. Where was she?

He waits a few more minutes before he decides to leave. He stands up and his takes his jacket from the sofa’s armrest, and he’s about to step out the door when the phone rings. He pauses, debating whether to answer it or not, before he shuts the door and walks to the phone by the mini bar.

“Hello?” he greets, his voice even as he presses the yellow phone to his ear.

“Ah, Monsieur Kuryakin, this is Officer Choirat on the line.”

Illya nods. It was one of the officers they were working with for the case. “Yes, Officer, what can I do for you tonight?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an incident at one of the local bars along the Seine.”

Illya’s shoulders tense as the officer continues. “… Involving some of the Neo Nazis we have been monitoring. Mademoiselle Teller was spotted there and I believe – “

The phone hangs from its receiver and the officer is left talking as Illya rushes out of the suite, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

\---

 

When Illya gets there, there’s a large crowd of people surrounding the bar, peeking over the barricade the police had made. Despite his size, he moves through the crowd easily enough, and the large Russian goes unnoticed as he slips past the police, sharing a nod with Officer Choirat on his way in. Pieces of glass from the shattered window of the main door fall to the floor as he pushes it open with one hand, while the other is clenched tightly at his side.

Immediately, he sees Gaby in the middle of the bar, and his shoulders relax. Her dress is slightly disheveled, and she’s sporting a gash over her cheek, nothing serious – and around her, five or six men are lying on the ground, moaning loudly, and in different states of pain and agony as they clutch their shins, knees, shoulders, and various other body parts.

He had rushed in with the thought of saving Gaby from the Neo Nazis, when clearly he had come to save them from her.

She lifts her head at the sight of him, swiping the cut over her cheek with a napkin handed by one of the waitresses. “Ah, husband!” she calls out, fake cheer in her voice as she pushes herself off the stool, grabbing her coat from the bar counter. He’s across the room but he can already smell the alcohol on her. She stumbles towards him, stepping over a few of the men on her way, until she’s holding onto his arm and smiling up at him. “You’re here just in time.”

“Yes,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear amidst the sound of adult men groaning in the room. “I heard you were in trouble.”

“Oh, nothing serious, just – “

“Stupid bitch,” one of the men on the ground say, his face crumpled in pain as he glares up at them. Illya turns to look at him the same time Gaby turns around, the cheery smile still plastered on her face, and Illya has spent enough time with her to see the way her foot twitches, which means any second she’s going to lift her knee and dig her heel to the side of the man’s face or neck.

But before she can do any of that, he scoops her in his arms – she yelps, “What are you – “ and tosses her over his shoulder as he turns toward the door, making sure to rest a hand on the back of her head so she wouldn’t hit her head against the doorframe as he went through it.

“Put me down!” Gaby slurred, her fists pounding against his back. Illya easily grabs onto both her ankles with one hand to stop her from kicking him, while the other hand is holding onto her back so she doesn’t fall off him with all her movement.

“It’s time to go,” he says, tightly holding onto her squirming body.

By the time arrive at the hotel lobby, she’s given up and passed out over his shoulder, her legs dangling over his front, her arms dangling over his back. Illya spares a small nod at the lobby boy and the receptionist as he heads for the elevators.

When they get back to their suite, he lowers her down on the couch, and sets a pillow behind her head so her neck wouldn’t be at an awkward angle. He walks to the mini fridge to fix a glass of water before heading to his bedroom. He pulls his bag from beneath his bed and takes two tablets of aspirin from the side pocket. He pauses just before he zips his bag closed, then pulls out one of his shirts. When he turns to head back to the living room, the glass of water in one hand, the aspirin in the other, he stops.

Gaby is leaning against the doorframe to his room, her shoes tossed over the carpet behind her, and her dress undone up to her shoulders, a lazy, drunken curl on her lips.

“I can’t reach the rest,” she says, followed by a lazy shrug of her shoulder, and the sleeve of her dress slips a few centimeters down her arm. Illya can just see the lace of her bra and the swell of her breast.

Silently, he sets the aspirin and the glass of water down on his bedside table before walking up to her, her eyes never leaving him until he’s standing in front of her and she’s looking up at him, the Cheshire cat smile never leaving her face. Slowly, she turns around, revealing the zipper that’s done halfway through her dress. Illya lifts his hands, setting one against her waist while the other holds onto the zipper, and it’s tiny compared to the size of his hands. He pulls down, until he sees the clasp of her black lace bra, down, until he sees the small mole on her back, down, until he sees the tip of her black thong and the curve of her buttocks.

He clears his throat, and he watches as her hands move up to push the dress of her shoulders and the fabric falls to her feet. She turns around, her eyes twinkling, and Illya opens his mouth to say something – but then Gaby steps back and with the same force the first night they were assigned together, she tackles him onto the bed and he lands with a loud, “Oof!” that escapes his lips.

Illya feels his entire body growing hot as Gaby’s tongue skims across his jawline, and the heat travels south as he feels her grind her hips down, over his crotch, and she trails kisses from his jawline until she presses her lips against his, parting his lips with hers, and she holds the side of his face as she slips her tongue through the small gap and he tastes... the bitter sting of vodka.

He opens his eyes, and when he lifts his hands to her waist, he can feel her shiver.

“Chop shop girl,” he says softly.

Gaby pulls her head back, and Illya is torn at the sight of the swollen redness to her lips. She has to toss her head back so she can see him from behind her fringe. “Yes?” she asks, her voice breathy, impatient.

“You... need to sleep.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, her lips parted in surprise. A few more seconds pass of them staring at each other before she rests her hands on the mattress, at both sides of his head, and props herself up. “Oh,” she says, looking down at him. “You’re one of  _those types_  aren’t you?”

Illya blinks, his hands still around her waist, and he has to control himself from caressing her olive skin with his thumb. “What... types?”

“You don’t do the whole casual fuck,” she says, clearly stressing on the word, as if she was trying to provoke a stronger reaction from him. “No, you  _make love_ _,_ don’t you?”

Illya doesn’t say anything, and perhaps that’s enough to answer her question since she sighs and rolls over so she’s lying beside him on the bed, on her back, and looking up at the ceiling. “Fine, fine,” she says, waving her hand in the air, dismissing him. “I’m not exactly looking for love right now, so you can leave.”

He wants to tell her that she’s on his bed, but thinks better of it. He sits up, his stomach tight, and glances back at her just as she rolls to her side and pulls the blanket over her body. He reaches for the glass of water and aspirin on his bedside table and clears his throat again. “Gaby,” he says.

She turns around and when she sees what she’s holding, she sighs and sits up, holding her hand out, letting him drop the tablets in her palm before tossing her head back and swallowing them. She takes the glass of water and hands it back to him after taking a sip. She’s about to turn back to her side when he hands her his shirt, and she looks at it before looking up at him.

 “For you to change in,” he says.

Her eyebrows narrow before she rolls her eyes, and she doesn’t wait for him to turn away before she unhooks her bra, exposing her perk breasts as she slips on his shirt. He manages to look away in time for her to pull off her thong, his hands clenched atop his lap as she tosses her undergarments over the other side of the bed.

Not looking at him, she murmurs a small “Thank you” under her breath and rolls to her side and tugs the blanket over herself.

Illya takes the glass of water and pushes his bag back under his bed. And when he gets to the door, he glances back at the bed, his finger just above the light switch.

“Good night, chop shop girl,” he says.

She replies with a particularly loud snore.

 

\---

 

The next day, mission briefing is over breakfast. Gaby emerges from her room, her dark hair fixed to a thick ponytail, her dress all clean lines and matching the white pearls fastened to her ears. The only thing that gives away the horrible hangover she’s experiencing is the fact she’s wearing her large pair of sunglasses indoors and is wincing at every ray of sunlight that escapes through the linen curtains of the suite’s floor length windows.

“Good morning, Ms. Teller,” Waverly says from the television set. “Nice of you to join us.”

Illya hands her another glass of water and two more tablets of aspirin as she takes the seat beside him. She scowls at him but takes them nonetheless. “Good morning,” she mutters under her breath, a hand going up to shield her eyes even further from the sunlight.

“As I was saying, since Ms. Teller was kind enough to send our only connections to Dr. Jentsch to the hospital last night, we have no choice but to infiltrate the suspected building he lives in.”

Illya hands her a croissant already spread with butter, but she pushes it away with a frown.

“The bad news, given it’s awfully suspicious to have an entire gang of Neo Nazis wiped out on one night, we expect them to be prepared and ready for any sort of ruckus to keep the good scientist safe.”

Illya nods as Gaby takes a sip of coffee.

“Agent Kuryakin, you will take the lead for the infiltration. Agent Teller, you will serve as automotive support.”

“Driver, you mean,” Gaby mutters, and Illya shakes his head, knowing Waverly isn’t going to react nicely to that after what happened the last night.

“Yes, I do mean that,” Waverly answers, sitting up from behind his table and leaning toward the camera in front him. “Honestly, Agent Teller, what were you thinking? Thanks to your debacle last night, the danger to this mission has increased unnecessarily – “

Gaby bites her lip, unable to answer, and Illya sees her fists clenched atop her lap, so he turns toward the screen. “It is a setback,” he says, his voice a dark rumble, both an intimidating and calming presence in the room. “But not the worse we’ve come across. If anything, at least we have one less Neo Nazi gang roaming the streets.”

Waverly sighs and clearly he wants to say more but has decided there’s no point. “Alright then,” he says, and continues with the briefing until it’s over, and Illya turns off the television so they can continue having their breakfast.

He turns to look at Gaby, but she looks away just as he does, a small, annoyed “Tch,” escaping her lips as she takes another sip of her coffee.

 

\---

 

Later that night, Gaby pulls their car two streets away from the target building. Beside her, Illya pulls his handgun from the compartment, cocking it open and loading it with bullets one by one. She watches him quietly, the tightness in her stomach growing along with each bullet Illya slides into the barrel. They’ve been on many missions before, and have made many setbacks, but this is the first time something she had done, rather, something she could have easily _not_ done, was putting in him graver danger than what was necessary.

She’s lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even realize that he’s already opening the door to leave. _How does he not say anything?_ she asks herself.

“Hey,” she says, one hand drumming against the steering well. Illya stops and turns back to face her, his hand still holding onto the door handle in mid-turn. “Take care of yourself.”

He nods. And of course, he still doesn’t say anything, so she continues, her hands now tightening around the leather steering wheel. “I’m sorry that you ended up having to do this.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I did it?”

He just watches her, and it infuriates her how he doesn’t pressure her to answer, how he never really pressures her to do anything, actually, until she’s ready and decides to do it herself. Even though are times she just wish he would be more… well, be more expressive about what it is he wants. Who he wants. If he wants her.

She sighs. “I went there for a drink, and naturally, a beauty like me, all alone, is approached by a few men.”

He nods.

“I tell them I’m married, show them the ring on my finger, hoping that’ll send them away, but of course, that doesn’t stop them. One snatches my wallet, flips it open to get the money and when they see my ID, they go,” she pauses. “ _What? You’re married to a fucking Commie? How the hell does he fuck you when his cock is permanently shriveled up in the cold?”_

She stops, and she hates that she’s blushing, and she hates it even more that _he’s still not reacting,_ and she turns to yell at him to say something, but then he clears his throat.

“So... you incapacitate an entire gang of Neo Nazis... in defense of my penis?”

She stares at him and she’s about to send a good punch to his nose, mission be damned, when she’s caught off guard by the wide, lighthearted smile on his face, the corners of his cerulean eyes crinkling as he chuckles. “I’m only kidding, chop shop girl,” he says, his voice a low rumble that fills the tiny car. “Thank you.”

Gaby rolls her eyes at him and faces ahead, the blush not leaving her face. “Just get out of the car and finish this so we can go home.” 

“There’s no need to worry,” he says, smiling at her before opening the door and closing it behind him.

 

\---

 

It doesn’t go well. And it’s not just because there’s an explosion and Gaby sees a refrigerator fly out of the building’s third floor window. Illya stopped responding to his radio ten minutes ago. And for the past eight minutes she had been debating whether he was fine, maybe he had just dropped it in a fight, or if she should blow her cover to get him out.

It’s the flying refrigerator that makes Gaby rush out of the car.

“ _No need to worry,”_ she says under her breath, mocking Illya’s accent as she takes the pistol beneath her blouse and slides against the back entrance to the building. “No need to worry, he says.”

She looks up at the sound of the pillars giving way on one of the top floors as the fire increases in strength, and she quells thoughts of him up there, maybe unconscious as debris and parts of the roof fall.  She counts to three before she barges the door open with her shoulder and she immediately takes down two men with bullets to the shoulder and knee cap. She travels down the hallway and ducks instinctively as there’s another explosion upstairs and she whirls around when one of the main doors in the hallway bursts open.

It’s Illya, a stream of blood flowing down one side of his face, his blonde hair matted against his forehead with dried blood. He’s limping as he carries the full weight of Dr. Jentsch who’s is breathing, but unconscious.

“Gaby,” he says, his voice hoarse, but still booming amidst the sound of fire, destruction, and bullets in the air. “You were supposed to stay in - “

She lifts her gun and shoots down two men trailing behind him and the doctor. “Then who would be saving your blond ass?” she snaps back, rushing over and taking Dr. Jentsch’s other arm to share the weight and carry him out of the building. 

They drag him across the street as the building falls apart behind them, and toss him to the backseat. Illya climbs in the back and shuts the door as Gaby starts the car. “Hold on,” she warns, whirling her head back and holding onto the front passenger seat’s headrest as she reverses down the road and drives them back onto the highway.

 

\---

 

Later, they’re back at the suite, Gaby is leaning against the doorframe, watching Illya sitting on the sofa, wincing as a nurse stands in front of him and patches up the cut on his head with gauze. When the nurse leaves and shuts the door, Illya looks up at her and Gaby holds up the bottle of scotch and two glasses she had been hiding behind her back.

“Drink?” she asks, a quirk in the corner of her lips.

He looks like he’s about to say no, and she’s about to toss the bottle of scotch at his head if he does, before he smiles and says, “Okay, just one.” She then proceeds to fill his glass almost to the brim with scotch and hands it to him.

Illya gives her a flat look before she rolls her eyes and goes, “Oh, fine,” and tucks the bottle under her arm as she pours some of the scotch in his glass into her own.

“Okay?” she says, handing it to him now that it was at a reasonable amount. He takes it and offers her a toast, which she takes, the soft clink of their glasses filling the quiet suite. 

She takes a seat beside him and they both drink their scotch in silence. Sitting down, he’s still so much bigger than her, and it’s odd how warm he feels beside her when his hands are always so cold.

“Illya,” she says, between sips. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him pull the glass from his lips and look down at her. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t pull anything like that any time soon, or in fact, if you never did that again.”

He cocks his head to the side.

“I’m not a fan of near-death experiences,” she continues, still not looking at him as she finishes her drink and she’s twisting the bottle open to pour herself some more. “I mean, I’m aware it was my fault in the first place, but really, if you know you’re not capable of doing a mission on your own, get over your ridiculous Russian pride and just say so - “

“Gaby.”

She stops, turning her head to look at him, in the middle of pouring herself more scotch. “What?” she asks, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.

“I want to kiss you, but only when you finish saying what you have to say.”

She stares up at him, her empty glass forgotten. “I’m finished.”

He nods, sets his glass on the coffee table, and takes hers and the bottle of scotch and sets them beside his.

Gaby has only enough time for a small exhale of breath before Illya swoops down to capture her lips in his. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s just her, maybe it’s because she’s been waiting for this for months, but her cheeks feel so hot that when his cold hands come to cup the side of her face, she gasps, and he takes the opportunity for his tongue to slip past her lips as he tilts her head back, deepens the kiss, and she feels his tongue slide against hers. She moves her hands behind his neck and runs her fingers through his hair, keeping him close, and everything feels so hot that when he pulls away, she’s enveloped by the cool air of the air conditioner. 

She’s about to protest and ask what he’s doing when he slides to his knees in front of her, and a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine before he starts mouthing against the patch of her of collarbone peeking through her blouse, the tip of his tongue running along her warm skin. His hands move lower until they’re moving behind her hips and they’re unfastening the hook of her skirt. Gaby lifts her hips up to help Illya slide the skirt down her legs until she’s in her panties, and she tries not to moan as he ducks his head, at the slow slide of his hands traveling up the inside of her thighs and parting them. 

“Illya - “

Her eyes shoot open as her entire body jerks when she feels his lips right  _there,_ his tongue lapping the wetness through the thin fabric of her panties. She tosses her head back as she gasps, a hand in her hair and the other holding onto Illya’s shoulder as she spreads her legs wider, Illya’s tongue stroking her over and over again through the thin, wet cotton and she gasps when she feels his finger lift the inner lining and she feels just the tip of his tongue on her, with nothing separating them. 

When she feels his fingers pulling her underwear down, she’s more than willing to lift her hips up and slide them down her legs, but she’s not prepared when he takes her ankles and rests her feet against his shoulders and he presses his face deeper into her, fully between her thighs, his tongue lapping up every bit of her release, thrusting his tongue exactly where it needs to, over and over. 

“Oh, God, oh,  _oh,”_ Gaby moans, shivers wracking her entire body, and she lets out a louder groan when she feels his teeth graze against her clit, and she’s close, so close - 

When the door opens.

Solo’s suave voice enters the room. “So, a little bird told me that you two - “ 

Solo’s eyebrows nearly disappear at his hairline when he sees them. Gaby can feel Illya’s shoulders freeze between her thighs, and his tongue’s still inside her but it’s stopped moving. Pissed off, she sits up, resting an arm against the back of the couch while the other hand points at the door. “Solo, get out of this room right now, or I swear to God - “

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, quickly closing the door behind him. 

Gaby props herself back on the couch and she lifts one ankle off Illya’s shoulder to tap him on the back with her heel. “Continue,” she says, tossing her head back with a small laugh and a shiver runs down her spine as she can  _feel_ Illya smile against her clit before he continues, his tongue attacking that sweet spot in her until finally, she comes, her hands in his hair as he laps every bit of her clean. When he’s finished, he straightens himself and kisses her, and she wrinkles her nose as she tastes herself on his tongue.

She’s out of breath but she rests her forehead against his. “Your turn,” she breathes, opening her eyes to meet with his. He smiles and she doesn’t protest as his arms wrap around her and he lifts her off the couch. He wraps her legs around his torso as he carries her to his bed, carefully setting her down just as she holds onto the collar of his turtleneck and drags him down with her. 

“We need these off. _Now._ ”

Their clothes are off in seconds, tossed about in different areas in the room, and she’s pretty sure those are Illya’s briefs hanging on the chandelier, but she doesn’t care as she rolls them over so he has his back against the headboard and she’s straddling him. He watches her as she slides down his body until she’s kneeling in front of his cock, and it’s every inch as thick and long as she imagined it would be. 

Illya lifts his head from the bed. “Gaby - “

“Condom,” she said, holding her hand out as she presses a soft kiss to the head.

He lets out a strangled laugh as he pulls one from the bedside table, ripping it open with his teeth before handing it to her, and she quickly peels it over Illya’s angry, red cock. When she's finished, she gives it one good squeeze and swirls her tongue over the head, coating it with saliva, and making him toss his head back against the headboard.  She grins at him before climbing onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, and finally, they’re at eye level. 

He sets his hands on her waist and an excited shiver runs up her spine. She grinds down against him, feeling the tip of his cock skim just across her entrance, enjoying the way Illya tosses his head back at every slide of friction. She smirks at him, brushing his blond hair back until he’s looking at her, sharp blue eyes glazed over.

“Now be a good boy and fuck me,” she says.

He open his mouth and she knows he’s going argue, probably correct her that he’s not going to just do that but he will lavish her with attention and all of that, and that’s all well and good but she’s always been an impatient girl and she’s been waiting for this for months, so before he gets to do any of that, she reaches down, angles his cock just the right away before sinking down on it, and she’s so wet, it takes just one slide to take all of him in.

“Ahhhh!” she yelps, tossing her head back, and Illya holds her closer to him, pressing his lips to her collarbone as she shifts to take him in, making herself as comfortable as could be with a cock inside her, grinding her hips back and forth, and she knows she isn’t going to last long because he’s so big, and every jerk hits her just where it’s meant to.

She can feel him rock his hips up to meet every jerk of her hips, and she’s lost in the sensation of his tongue sliding along her collarbone and the slick slaps and slide of his cock in and out of her. 

“I-Illya,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to hold out as long as she can. 

And she’s pretty sure she hears him growl before he pushes her down on the bed. She’s on her back, his cock still inside her as he angles himself on top of her and continues to rock his hips against hers, and she’s pretty sure she moves up the bed an inch in every thrust, in every hard slap of his muscled thighs against hers. She bites her lips to hold her moans as his tongue moves from her collarbone and moves lowers to take one of her pert nipples in his mouth and as soon as she feels the nub between his teeth, that’s it, she lets out a long moan as she comes, her head tossed back and hair dark hair splayed out behind her against the cream sheets. 

And maybe it’s the way her muscles clamp around him when she orgasms, but he follows soon after, gasping against her breast and she can feel his long eyelashes brush against her sensitive skin as he squeezes his eyes shut. They both take a while to gather their breathing before Gaby releases her thighs’ hold around Illya’s waist and sets her feet on the bed, and Illya pulls away from her, quickly reaching down to pull his condom off before lying back on top her, his head against her chest. One of his thumbs traces patterns along her tan skin while one of her hands runs through his thick blonde hair.

“I’ll have you know that I plan on making this a recurring thing,” Gaby says, staring up at the ceiling and just enjoying the feel of his hair between her fingers. And despite herself, she feels the corner of her lips quirk up when she can feel him smile against her stomach, and the rumble of his chest against her skin as he chuckles.

“Okay.”

 

\---

 

The next morning Solo shuts his newspaper as they enter the dining area, a full breakfast set prepared for them.

“Good morning,” he says, setting the paper down beside him, watching the both of them with an amused, raised eyebrow as they both emerge from Illya’s room. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you, Solo,” Gaby says, sitting down and taking a bite out of a croissant.

“Not sure if I ordered enough for all of us,” he said, motioning towards the food. It was plenty. He turns toward Illya. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry though, given you had quite a mouthful last night.”

And Gaby laughs, her hand sliding over Illya’s before he can reach for the butter knife. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a summary I saw on AO3 about how Illya doesn't fuck, he makes love, hahahaha, and I super liked the scene with Gaby and Illya in the ruins and she’s ordering him around, and I just loved the thought of this firecracker of a woman in this small body who’s so used to giving orders and doing what she wants, in love with this big, friendly, quiet, ridiculously attractive giant. Ugh. My heart.
> 
> Excuse the typos! Lemme know what you think! :)


End file.
